


my heart keeps playing hide and seek

by newamsterdam



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, University, ample appreciation of bokuto's arms, ample appreciation of kuroo's everything, captains all attend the same university, chapter one is rated T and can be read alone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/pseuds/newamsterdam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Seriously?”</p>
  <p>Kuroo nods.</p>
  <p>“You’re coming to college with me?”</p>
  <p>Another nod.</p>
  <p>“We’re gonna play on the same team?”</p>
  <p>This time, Kuroo flashes a victory sign, keeping his face neutral even though Bokuto can see he’s struggling not to grin.</p>
  <p>“This is <i>amazing</i>!” Bokuto jumps up, laughter bubbling out of him. “Can you imagine? We’re gonna kick so much ass!”</p>
  <p>And then Kuroo’s laughing, too, and smiling at Bokuto— not his usual, all-knowing smirk, but an honest and unselfconscious grin that makes him look young and carefree and <i>beautiful</i>.</p>
  <p>Bokuto doesn’t really have time to think that that might be a weird thing to think about one of his best friends, because he’s too busy rushing around the table to crush Kuroo into a hug.</p>
</blockquote>Bokuto has finally decided that his college life is going to be awesome. How can it not be, when he and Kuroo are now teammates and roommates? But he isn't accounting for the way he suddenly wants to be closer and closer, beyond friends or teammates or roommates or anything else.
            </blockquote>





	my heart keeps playing hide and seek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [risquetendencies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/risquetendencies/gifts).



> this is a now very belated gift for the amazing risquetendencies! this is sort of bokuto's love letter to kuroo, and sort of kuroo's love letter to bokuto, but mostly my letter of love and appreciation to you! you are seriously one of the coolest people i know, and i hope this year brings you nothing but good tidings!
> 
> i'm sorry this is so late, and also incomplete. the e rating is on the way in the next chapter, i promise. until then, enjoy some hardcore mutual pining.

He isn’t worried about going to college. That would be stupid, since Bokuto has been scouted by one of the best schools in the country, one of a select few that feeds its star players directly into the national team. He’s so coveted, in fact, that he won’t even being paying for most of his own expenses. It’s what he always wanted, the chance to fly higher and higher until he reaches the world stage. So there’s absolutely nothing to be worried about.

It’s just that, none of Fukurodani’s other third years are going to the same school as him. The comfortable dynamic he’s built up through high school, with a team that supports him and admires him, will soon be gone. It won’t be Akaashi tossing to him, but Oikawa Tooru, a star setter from Miyagi.

It’s just that he’s soon going to be on the same team as Ushijima Wakatoshi, who’s been a taunting presence in his life since he’d gotten onto the ranked list of aces that circulated between coaches, scouts, and commentators. And even though Ushiwaka never made it to Nationals three times in a row, like Bokuto did, there’s still the lingering doubt that Ushijima’s always going to be better than him. 

It’s just that he’s scared, because he knows how well he does depends on how he feels. And even when he tells himself that everything’s going to be alright, unless he really believes it he runs the risk of being his own worst enemy, on and off the court. And without anyone familiar to ground him, and support him, he might just keep falling instead of flying upwards.

“You’ve got a little wrinkle, here,” Kuroo says, poking Bokuto between the eyes.

“Ow,” he whines, lifting both hands to slap Kuroo away. “What’s that for?”

They’re sitting at one of their favorite cafés, Kuroo leaning back in his chair and holding up an off-white envelope like it’s something terribly important. Bokuto wilts with guilt as he looks at it, realizing he hasn’t been following Kuroo’s conversation at all.

“You’re so spacey, today,” Kuroo chides, arching an eyebrow. “It’s like you don’t care about my future at all.”

“Your future?” Bokuto blinks, leaning forward and pressing both his palms against the table, jostling their long-forgotten drinks. “You mean…?”

Kuroo smirks, sharp teeth peeking out from between his lips. “If you’d been listening to me, you’d already know.”

It helps that Bokuto can read Kuroo as well as Kuroo can read him. While Bokuto’s future has been decided for months, now, Kuroo didn’t have the absolute assurance of a sports scholarship to fall back on. So he’s been caught up in entrance exams for months, so much so that Bokuto’s barely seen him since Nationals.

“So?” Bokuto prompts, shaking the table a bit. “Tell me, tell me!” 

For a moment, Kuroo looks a little uncertain, his golden eyes darting away from Bokuto’s before his gaze settles back on the envelope. He pushes it towards Bokuto, shrugging as though it barely matters.

“See for yourself.” 

Bokuto yanks the letter out of the envelope, eyes scanning the letterhead until he can process what he’s seeing. When he finally makes sense of it, he looks up at Kuroo with a smile that stretches so wide he can feel the pull of it in his cheeks.

“Seriously?”

Kuroo nods.

“You’re coming to college with me?”

Another nod.

“We’re gonna play on the same team?”

This time, Kuroo flashes a victory sign, keeping his face neutral even though Bokuto can see he’s struggling not to grin.

“This is _amazing_!” Bokuto jumps up, laughter bubbling out of him. “Can you imagine? We’re gonna kick so much ass!”

And then Kuroo’s laughing, too, and smiling at Bokuto— not his usual, all-knowing smirk, but an honest and unselfconscious grin that makes him look young and carefree and _beautiful_.

Bokuto doesn’t really have time to think that that might be a weird thing to think about one of his best friends, because he’s too busy rushing around the table to crush Kuroo into a hug.

Kuroo pushes him away halfheartedly and says oh-so-casually, “So, Mr. Sports Scholarship, are we going to be roommates, or what?”

Bokuto’s still laughing, more relieved than he’s been in weeks, when he finally remembers to answer with a resounding yes.

—

College is more exciting than intimidating, after that. Kenma and Akaashi come along to help Bokuto and Kuroo move into their new apartment, even though Bokuto catches them taking bets on how long it’ll take the two of them to burn the place down or accidentally shove themselves out of one of the windows. Kuroo frowns at them both and adopts a lofty tone, telling them they can’t take bets on people’s lives now that they both have the responsibility of captaining teams to Nationals.

Practices start quickly, followed by classes. Kuroo helps Bokuto plan his schedule, suggesting courses in education in a voice that says he’s thought about it a lot but doesn’t want Bokuto to know that. His own course load is a mix of hard sciences and psychology, subjects Bokuto would never even dream of diving headfirst into. But Kuroo’s smart, in a science-y way, and Bokuto’s proud of him.

Volleyball is grueling, because they’re all still getting used to playing on the same team. Along with Ushiwaka and Oikawa, Sawamura’s also been drafted from Miyagi, and there’s a strange tension among these teammates who were so lately rivals. Bokuto, the pressure of his scholarship weighing heavily on his shoulders, does his best to knit this new team together. Having Kuroo at his back helps, in more ways than one.

As they head into the season, the coaches call on Bokuto to stay later after practice, and sometimes he’ll stay back on his own even beyond that. There’s a small voice at the back of his mind, telling him that he has to prove that he’s worth the trouble.

After one such day, he unlocks the door to his and Kuroo’s apartment, groaning as he tosses his gym bag against the wall and tugs off his shoes. 

“Stop moaning,” Kuroo calls from further inside, “You’ve got reading to catch up on, don’t you?”

Kuroo should probably consider a career as a teacher, or a drill sergeant. Because even when Bokuto’s exhausted down to his bones, Kuroo makes him sit at their kitchen table and get through his school work. He makes color-coded schedules and helps Bokuto through his more difficult work, and when Kuroo sits with him, flipping through his own elaborate notes, it barely feels like working at all.

Tonight, when they’re done, they shove aside their books and migrate to the couch, curling up together as Kuroo puts on a movie they’ve seen a thousand times before. The familiar dialogue is lulling, and Bokuto barely realizes it when he nods off to sleep, face pressed into Kuroo’s shoulder. 

He wakes up to the sound of the credits music and Kuroo shoving him none too gently. 

“Wake up,” Kuroo says, pushing at Bokuto’s shoulder again. “You’re too heavy, I can’t carry you to bed.”

Thoughts still cloudy, Bokuto pushes himself up and presses one hand against his mouth as he yawns. “You can’t carry me,” he agrees, the thought rolling over in his mind, “But _I_ could carry _you_.”

Kuroo swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He looks down from his vantage point at Bokuto’s arms, golden eyes slightly glazed with what must be the haziness of sleep.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, his voice husky, “I know.”

The idea forms fully in Bokuto’s mind, and he looks up at Kuroo with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, no,” Kuroo groans, pushing himself way and practically rolling over on the couch, “Bo, don’t do it—”

It’s too late. Bokuto dives after Kuroo, planting his feet against the ground and laughing as he wraps his arms around Kuroo’s waist, pulling them both up easily. Kuroo kicks and squirms against him, shoving at Bokuto but unable to break his grip. After a moment’s maneuvering, he has Kuroo pretzeled in his arms, held up off the ground.

“Oh my god.” Kuroo presses his face against Bokuto’s neck, his skin warm against Bokuto’s. He must be so embarrassed, and Bokuto barks another laugh, victorious. 

Bokuto staggers a bit under Kuroo’s weight, but he’s strong enough to carry him towards their bedroom. He deposits Kuroo down onto his bed with a crash, and Kuroo immediately rolls over towards the wall, legs drawn up to his chest protectively.

He’s laughing, too, and sounds entirely breathless. 

It’s only later, when Bokuto’s across the small room in his own bed, tucked under the covers, that he realizes he misses the weight of Kuroo in his arms. It had felt nice to hold onto him, in a way that Bokuto doesn’t quite understand.

—

Almost as soon as the season starts, national scouts start sniffing around their team. Bokuto probably shouldn’t be as surprised as he is— they _are_ one of the best teams in the country, a natural feeder for the Japanese men’s team. And, of course, that’s one of the reasons he’d decided on this team in the first place. He just hadn’t expected his goals to come rushing up to meet him so soon.

The first years are often regulated to practicing with each other, Oikawa setting for all of them in that uncanny way he has. He always has a compliment to spare when Bokuto spikes his tosses, and when they miss he’s the first to take onus for it. Bokuto finds himself liking Oikawa much more than he expected to.

“You’re still hopeless at strategy,” Oikawa says to Ushijima at practice one day, stretching out his legs. “How’s your brute force going to save you when we’re up against Brazil and Russia?” 

Even though the words aren’t directed at him, Bokuto thinks over them carefully as he finishes his own stretches. He’s always had power on his side, and has left the strategizing to his setters. But he’s supposed to be growing, here, and not resting on his laurels. 

“Strategize with me,” he whines at Kuroo, pulling him over to free court by the front of his jersey. “You and Kenma always had those weird, smart plays. Do that with me, too.”

“That’s because me and Kenma are both smart,” Kuroo says, voice idle but not unkind. 

“Ku _roo_.” Bokuto draws out the last syllable, well aware that he’s pouting. He has to have a leg up on Ushijima somehow, and the fact that the smartest person on their team is his best friend should count for something. 

Kuroo laughs, ruffling a hand through Bokuto’s hair. “Stop whining at me,” he says. “When have I ever said no to practicing with you?” 

Bokuto perks up immediately. “So let’s start now, yeah?” 

It starts a pattern, or maybe picks up the one they’d developed during training camps in high school. Bokuto’s not blind to the fact that having a strong middle blocker to play against continuously has made him a better wing spiker. And just like with his school work, when he plays volleyball with Kuroo he barely feels the minutes ticking by. 

He can feel himself getting better, more attuned to the court. Oikawa’s fond of complex plays, and when he and Kuroo put their heads together they come up with some truly remarkable feints and strategies. And thanks to all his extra practicing, Bokuto’s able to keep up, and becomes the center piece of a large number of those plays.

It isn’t petty, the way he’s happy to one-up Ushijima at times like this. No one would be happy with resting at number four forever— his goal has to be being number one, and that means surpassing whoever’s ahead of him. 

But maybe Ushijima notices, because a few weeks later Bokuto arrives at practice to see him speaking with Kuroo, both already dressed out in practice jerseys and shorts. 

Kuroo’s rolling a volleyball between his hands, nodding at whatever Ushijima’s saying to him.

“Hey,” he says, turning when he notices Bokuto, “Ushiwaka wants me to block for him for a bit. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Ushijima frowns at the nickname. “Just because Oikawa calls me that doesn’t mean the rest of you have to,” he says blandly.

“You two are going to practice together?” Bokuto frowns.

“Yeah?” Kuroo arches a brow. “We’re teammates, you know.”

He doesn’t know why the thought sits so uncomfortably in his gut. It isn’t Ushijima— college has narrowed the gap between them considerably, and he doesn’t feel threatened. He even likes playing with Ushijima, most days. Having someone else on his team at such a high level forces him to play even better, and he appreciates that. Plus, the guy’s dry voice and bland demeanor are unintentionally hilarious. 

But he doesn’t want Kuroo and Ushijima practicing alone together. That’s what he and Kuroo do, have always done, ever since they met back in their first year of high school. They’ve never had a problem inviting other people into their practices, but Bokuto’s never been blocked out of them, either.

“Bo-ku-to.” Kuroo raps his knuckles against Bokuto’s forehead. “You okay in there?” 

“Fine,” Bokuto insists, forcing a smile. He turns abruptly. “Hey, Oikawa— toss to me!”

He rushes off to the court Oikawa’s on with Sawamura, grin still plastered across his face. He’s been doing so well since school started, the darker thoughts thin, like clouds cut through by bright sun. He is not going to let this strange feeling pull him down. Not since he’s been managing so well, so far. He refuses. 

He practices with Oikawa and Sawamura, but can’t help looking back at Kuroo and Ushijima, eyes narrowed suspiciously at every move each of them makes.

That should be him, over there, he thinks darkly. He should be the one practicing with Kuroo. 

It might be half an hour, it might be three years, but later Kuroo waves him over with a grin and a holler. “Oi, you lot. Get over here so we can play some three-on-three.” 

They’re joined by another teammate, and when Kuroo tugs Bokuto around the net to join his team, it feels like the sun burning away the last of the dark clouds.

—

When national scouts start actually showing up at their matches, the rest of the school takes notice. Fukurodani was by no means a small school, and volleyball was their elite sport. So Bokuto is used to filled stands and overwhelming crowds, the ear-splitting din of dozens of people cheering his name.

Or at least, he thinks he is. College sports don’t attract as much attention as high school teams, as a rule, but it’s a different kind of crowd that comes to linger when they hear that their school may be home to several future Olympians. 

They’re more dedicated, for one. Bokuto sees the same six or seven students start showing up at every practice, eyeing him appreciatively when he makes a point off of a particular good spike or serves a no-touch ace. They remind him of the crowd that follows Oikawa out of the gymnasium every day, except they seem to be there for _him_.

The coaches start keeping him longer and longer, along with Ushijima and Oikawa. The three of them are the most likely first years to be scouted to the national team, and Bokuto blocks out everything else for a time as he focuses on being as strong, as fast, as perfect as possible. 

It’s more exhausting than anything he’s ever experienced before. But every time he leaves the gymnasium, towel around his neck and steps mulish and slow, there’s a shadow waiting for him.

Kuroo sits up against a wall, textbook open in front of him and gym bag tucked away at his side. He barely glances up when he hears Bokuto’s footsteps. 

“Ready to go home?” he asks, marking his page and getting to his feet.

It’s only a twelve-minute walk to their apartment. Bokuto could easily make the trip alone, despite how tired he is these days. And yet, without fail, Kuroo’s always waiting for him. 

“Yeah,” Bokuto says with a tired grin, throwing one arm around Kuroo’s shoulders.

Kuroo frowns. “You smell,” he complains.

“I showered,” Bokuto protests, leaning over to sniff at his underarms. They smell like fresh rain, or whichever body wash he’d grabbed out of his locker. He never really remembers.

“You still smell,” Kuroo insists, but he never moves out from under Bokuto’s arm, and they walk home like that, pressed close together. 

It’s a comfortable routine, until something changes.

Bokuto’s leaving the gym one day, looking around for Kuroo, when he hears someone coming up behind him. He turns to see one of the girls who’s always in the stands these days. She has long, thick dark hair that falls around her face in heavy waves, her eyes lined expertly with black. 

“Yes?” Bokuto asks, head tilted to one side as he tried to figure out why she’s following him.

She smiles at him, and there’s something shrewdly intelligent in her eyes. It reminds him of someone, but Bokuto’s too tired from practice to think of who.

“Hi, Bokuto-kun,” she says, shifting her fingers in a friendly wave. “You were really good, today.”

“Thanks,” Bokuto says. His chest is always warmer under praise, his entire mood lifting. “We’re ah, all working hard. So of course it’s gonna pay off.” 

“Of course,” the girl agrees. Her dark eyes sparkle under the dimming light of the evening. “We’re all excited for the match on Saturday. We know you’ll do awesome.”

He assumes she’s referring to the other students she’s always in, a mixed group of boys and girls who Oikawa teasingly refers to as Bokuto’s fan club. 

“You’re going to come watch?” Bokuto asks.

“Of course,” the girl says again. “I wouldn’t miss it— oh, right. I almost forgot. These are for you.”

She holds out a white cardboard box, tied with a golden ribbon. He takes it reflexively, with a murmured thanks.

“See you later, Bokuto-kun!” She turns on her heel and is gone a moment later. 

Behind him, someone clears their throat.

“So, what was that about?” Kuroo comes up behind him, movements slow and languid as he looks over Bokuto’s shoulder.

Bokuto flips open the box to find a dozen homemade cookies, iced with his jersey number. He reaches for one, stuffing it into his mouth and moaning when he tastes rich chocolate.

“These are amazing,” he says, holding out the box to Kuroo. “You’ve gotta try one.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Kuroo drawls, stepping pointedly away.

“No, you don’t understand,” Bokuto insists, reaching for another cookie, “They’re really, really good.”

“I’m okay,” Kuroo mutters, turning towards home. “Come on, I’m tired. Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m gonna finish these all by the time we get home if you don’t take one,” Bokuto threatens, biting off half of his second cookie. 

Kuroo scoffs, jabbing at Bokuto’s stomach. “You sure that’s the way to make the national team?”

Bokuto pouts, rubbing at his stomach. “I’ll burn it all off tomorrow, anyway,” he mutters, feeling put out.

“Sure, sure.” Kuroo sounds bored, beginning the walk towards home. But he doesn’t walk at Bokuto’s side, instead keeping a step ahead of him the entire time. There’s no natural opportunity for Bokuto to sling his arm around Kuroo’s shoulder, and he frowns as he walks, feeling empty and cold. 

—

Kuroo grows more sullen, after that. Or at least, Bokuto thinks he does. It’s always hard to be sure with Kuroo— he laughs everything off, never really shows the intricacies of his feelings if he can help it. 

Bokuto’s life is a flurry of activity, between classes and practices and finding enough time in the day to sleep and eat. The same girl approaches him after practice one day and asks if he wants to get dinner with her, but he tells her honestly that he just doesn’t have the time. The same thing happens a few days later, with a different girl. And then again, after a Saturday match. 

“You’re so popular these days,” Sawamura notices, looking at him wryly. 

Bokuto shrugs it off. “I don’t think I feel like dating anyone, right now,” he says. He doesn’t feel like that’s necessarily true, but he definitely doesn’t want to date any of the girls who’ve asked him, or the boys in the group that throw him significant, almost predatory looks. 

Bokuto glances at Kuroo, to see what he’s made of this conversation, only to find the space in front of his locker empty. He’s left without him.

And after that, it seems impossible to pin Kuroo down. His classes have picked up, he’s practicing more with Ushijima, he takes the train back to Nekoma twice a week to help Kenma study for his entrance exams. Everyone’s bidding for Kuroo’s time, and Bokuto feels like he’s losing. 

Sometimes, he even stays out past dinner, coming home late and night and muttering out excuses about lab partners and studying over dinner. Sometimes, Bokuto sees Kuroo around campus with different people— a boy a little shorter than him with pale hair and beautiful smile, a girl with luminous light eyes and an infectious laugh. 

One night, Kuroo staggers in through their apartment door, tripping out of his shoes and tossing his bag aside. He’s wearing his tightest jeans and a worn leather jacket, his hair more mussed than usual. 

Bokuto’s sitting in the kitchen, struggling to stay focused on his schoolwork on his own. He frowns as Kuroo passing him, smelling smoke and alcohol.

“Did you go to a _party_?” Bokuto demands, scandalized. 

Kuroo shrugs. “It was just a small thing, after we finished studying.”

“Were you drinking?” Bokuto asks, unsure of why that’s so important.

Kuroo shakes his head, digging around in the fridge for something. “Not really,” he says. “I was just hanging out.”

He turns around, eyes slightly glazed and hair mussed and shirt rumpled, and Bokuto has to abruptly quash his desire to cross the room and taste the remnants of the party that must be lingering against Kuroo’s skin. 

Bokuto hiccups, burying his face back in his textbook to avoid the sight of Kuroo downing an entire carton of orange juice. This is not the way he should be thinking about his best friend. This is not the way he should be thinking about Kuroo. 

But, damn it, he _misses_ Kuroo. He likes touching Kuroo, being close to him. He hates all these new people in Kuroo’s life that he’s never met, who claim his time and take him further and further away from Bokuto. 

When the thoughts start recurring, start seeping into his daydreams, Bokuto quietly admits to himself that he’s jealous. 

All he wants is to be closer to Kuroo, but if feels like they’re drifting further and further apart. 

—

“And you’re telling me this instead of Kuroo-san because…?” Akaashi’s voice is tinny through the phone, but Bokuto can imagine his flat expression.

“Because I don’t know what to do, Akaashi!” Bokuto tries to keep his voice down, but three people in the library turn around to shush him. “I think he’s mad at me, we haven’t even talked in weeks.”

“You just told me you talked last night, when he came home from the party,” Akaashi says. Bokuto imagines him tilting his head slightly, waiting for an answer.

“Well, I mean we _talk_ ,” Bokuto sputters. “We just don’t _talk_. Do you know what I mean, Akaashi?” 

“Not really,” Akaashi says tiredly. “You live together. You share a bedroom. Surely you can find a moment to talk to him.”

Bokuto frowns, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “But what if that ruins everything?” he asks, voice hushed.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Akaashi says.

“I just— I’m—” Bokuto struggles with his words for a moment, trying to think of what he actually wants to say. “I’m kinda scared, Akaashi. I just— Kuroo’s always helping me out, you know? Especially since we’ve both been here. What if he thinks I’m weird, or he doesn’t want that, from me, and I lose him? I can’t lose him, Akaashi.”

The other end of the line is quiet for a moment, until Bokuto hears Akaashi sigh softly. “I really think you should just talk to him,” Akaashi says. 

“I need to figure out why he’s mad at me first,” Bokuto insists.

“If you think that’s best, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says in a tone of voice that means he doesn’t think that’s best at all.

“I do!” Bokuto says.

Five people turn around to shush him, looking livid and scandalized. 

—

Bokuto makes a list of all the reasons Kuroo might be mad at him, and then goes in search of Sawamura, being Sawamura is wise and all-knowing. It’s just a fact, and Bokuto has come to accept it, even though Sawamura never agrees with him when he says so.

He corners Sawamura in the locker room, after the others have left one day.

“Hey,” he says, looking in both directions to make sure they’re alone before he slides up to Sawamura and continues, “do you think Kuroo wants to be on the national team?”

Sawamura frowns. “He’s never said so,” he says finally.

“Yeah, but Kuroo doesn’t say a lot of things,” Bokuto responds, trying not to feel too snappish. Obviously if Kuroo could be taken at face value, Bokuto wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

Sawamura sighs, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. “You know he and I really aren’t on your level, you know? I think Kuroo’s realistic.” 

“That’s not what I asked,” Bokuto whines, frowning. “That’s the point, even. Is he mad at me because he wants to join the team but thinks he won’t make it?” 

“Kuroo’s not mad at you,” Sawamura starts, before he claps a hand over his mouth. “I mean, he hasn’t mentioned anything, at all. Please don’t ask me about this, actually.”

“He’s said something?” Bokuto asks, stepping forward into Sawamura’s space. “Does he talk to you about me?”

“No,” Sawamura says pointedly, sidestepping Bokuto and grabbing his bag before he leaves the locker room, Bokuto trailing behind him.

“Sa-wa-mu-ra.” Bokuto draws out each syllable, aware that he’s being childish and maybe just a little annoying. “If you know what’s up with him, you’ve gotta tell me.”

Someone chuckles, and when they round the corner they see Oikawa leaning against one wall, tucking away his phone and looking at Bokuto knowingly.

“Trouble in paradise, Bokuto-kun?” he asks, voice pitched high.

“Please, don’t start,” Sawamura says firmly, fixing Oikawa with a firm glare.

Oikawa waves him off. “It’s not so hard to figure out, you know. Kuroo-kun’s _jealous_.”

Bokuto turns to Sawamura and throws his hands up in exasperation. “I just asked you that! You said he was being realistic!” 

“He’s not jealous about volleyball,” Sawamura says, face scrunched like he’s just eaten a sour lemon. “Besides, Oikawa, it isn’t our place to—”

“Kuroo doesn’t have anything to be jealous of!” Bokuto insists, rounding on both of them. “Kuroo’s amazing, at volleyball and everything else! He’s tall and funny and handsome and nice to everybody! Everyone should appreciate him more, including both of you!” 

“Oh my god,” Sawamura says, running one hand down his face.

Oikawa crows with laughter. “Oh, Bokuto-kun,” he says, shaking his head. “I think Kuroo-kun’s waiting for you to appreciate him more, not us.”

Still shaking his head, Oikawa stalks away, and Sawamura follows quickly behind him. Bokuto’s left outside the gym, frowning after them.

—

Kuroo’s already at the apartment when Bokuto arrives home that day, his books covering half their shared table as he flips through a binder of brightly-colored notes. Bokuto pauses in the doorway to watch him for a moment, lips pulling downward as he observes.

Kuroo looks tired. He usually hides it well, but tonight his eyes are heavily circled as his hair is lank over his forehead. He brushes it back from his eyes impatiently with one hand, scowling at his notes before pushing them away. He sets his head down against the table, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Bokuto says quietly, coming up to the table and standing over Kuroo. “What’s wrong?”

Kuroo looks up at him with dark eyes, his expression open and pained for a moment before he schools it back into his typical, practiced uncaring. 

“Nothing,” he drawls, pulling his binder back towards himself, “You know, just. Chemistry. Or whatever.”

Bokuto frowns at him more severely. “You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” 

“No,” Kuroo says immediately.

Bokuto rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to do that with me, you know?”

“Do what,” Kuroo says tiredly, flipping through his notes.

Bokuto reaches out and slides the binder away from him, snapping the cover closed. “You know. Pretend like nothing’s wrong. I know you do that a lot.”

Kuroo scowls at him, lips pursed together. “I don’t do that.” 

Bokuto huffs a laugh. “Man, of course you do. You always act like everything’s going according to your plan, or something. And there’s no way that’s true all the time. You look like a mess, right now.”

Kuroo shifts his chair back, frowning at Bokuto. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t be like that,” Bokuto tries again. “I’m trying to be here for you.”

It’s all he really wants, Bokuto realizes. Kuroo has always been there for him, at least up until recently. Maybe the reason he’s been pulling back is because he has no one to rely on in return. Maybe Bokuto’s been selfish, thinking Kuroo’s behavior revolves around him.

“I—” Kuroo cuts himself off before he even really starts to speak again, shaking his head. “Thanks.”

Bokuto smiles, reaching across the table to punch Kuroo lightly in the shoulder. “Of course. I know I— I think everyone thinks that I need a lot of help, with things.” He spaces out his words, unsure of what he’s feeling until he voices the thoughts aloud. “And I do, probably. And you’re always helping me out. I know that.”

“It’s not like that,” Kuroo starts, biting down on his lower lip.

“It is, mostly,” Bokuto says, smiling self-deprecatingly. “But that’s okay. ‘Cause I’ve always got you to pick me up, right?” 

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “I’m not even that nice to you, Bokuto.”

He knows that, too. Kuroo handles him differently than Akaashi does, or his parents do, or Konoha or Sawamura or anyone else. He takes digs at Bokuto, jokes with him. He doesn’t treat Bokuto like he’s made of glass— or if he does, he’s a kid at the aquarium who’ll keep tapping at the glass with the absolute confidence that it won’t break. 

“You are, though,” Bokuto says, laughing a little. “You take care of me. I want to take care of you, too.”

Kuroo’s breath hitches, and when he looks back at Bokuto he’s blushing, a furious red crawling across his tanned cheeks. It’s a good look on him, really. Bokuto feels his throat go dry, and has to cough to clear it before he can continue. 

“I don’t want anything about us to be one-sided,” Bokuto says. “Like, you just looking after me without me doing anything for you in return. So if you’re stressed out, or something, about anything, you can tell me.” 

Kuroo grins wryly at him. “Sometimes I feel better just being around you,” he admits quietly, and then stiffens, as though he hadn’t meant to let so much slip.

Bokuto fills with warm and affection, laughing as he rounds the table so he can stand next to Kuroo’s chair. “You know I feel the same way about you, right?” 

Kuroo gets out of his chair so that he and Bokuto stand facing each other. He’s still blushing, but there’s something pained lingering in his expression. Like he doesn’t believe what Bokuto’s saying to him.

Bokuto grabs Kuroo around the shoulders and crushes him into a tight hug, hearing Kuroo’s breath leave him in a wheeze. 

“We’re always going to be friends, right?” Bokuto insists, holding Kuroo so close he can’t see his face. Maybe, if that’s true, then Bokuto can tell Kuroo how he feels without fearing he’ll lose him. Maybe their friendship is strong enough to weather that storm, even if Kuroo doesn’t love Bokuto in return. 

Kuroo’s arms come up across Bokuto’s back, holding him tightly in response. “Yeah,” he says, voice sounding strangled. “Of course, Bo.” 

They linger in the hug too long. Bokuto can feel the tension running between them like lightning, sparking almost painfully. The hug is a comfort, for both of them, but Bokuto wants so much more.

—

Things get better, after that. Or at least, they should. Kuroo doesn’t seem to be avoiding Bokuto anymore, and practices go back to normal, and aside from Oikawa shooting Bokuto insistent looks before gesturing at Kuroo, Bokuto thinks that things have mostly gone back to normal.

As the semester draws to a close, they have an exhibition match against their local rivals. They win, two sets to one, and Bokuto gets match-point, spiking hard over the net with such force that the other side doesn’t move until after the ball has slammed down against the court.

Sawamura suggests they go out to celebrate, after. Oikawa decides they should go drinking. Ushijima tries to get out of it, but they all insist he come along, too. 

By halfway through the night, most of the team has peeled off, leaving Sawamura, Oikawa, Ushijima, Kuroo and Bokuto sitting in a booth, drinks and the remnants of their food in front of them.

Oikawa’s cheeks are a vivid red, and his voice is pitched like a song when he turns to Bokuto and asks, “So, Bokuto-kun. Get anymore offers after that spike, today?”

“Huh?” 

“You know,” Oikawa drawls. “I’ve seen how your little fan club looks at you. You don’t have as many as me, of course, but did anyone else work up the courage to ask you out, today?”

“Um,” Bokuto mumbles, looking down into his glass. “I didn’t really stick around to see.”

“What a shame,” Oikawa continues. “I’m sure they’re just waiting for the moment you’ll look at them and see how much they want you—”

He’s cut off by the sound of shattering glass. Four of them turn in the direction of the sound, which had come from Kuroo. He’s now looking up, the remnants of his glass clutched in one hand. 

“Did you just _shatter_ that?” Sawamura asks, anger building in his voice, as a waiter rushes over with a broom and napkins.

“Sorry,” Kuroo murmurs, more to the waiter than to Sawamura. He collects the broken shards of glass and passes them over to the waiter, streaks of red across his palm.

“You should be more careful,” Ushijima notes plainly. 

“Right,” Kuroo mumbles. To the waiter, he says, “Could you bring me something else? Maybe something stronger.”

The conversation wanders. Sawamura and Oikawa have a surprisingly good rapport, and between the two of them they carry on a commentary of the match. Ushijima puts in his thoughts every so often, and Bokuto’s nodding along, but Kuroo seems to have left the conversation entirely.

He’s still drinking, clutching a napkin to his bleeding palm and staring across the restaurant without really seeing anything. 

Bokuto doesn’t know if the others have really noticed. But he knows Kuroo, and knows that he wouldn’t want the others to be aware of his mood. So Bokuto doesn’t bring it up, just becomes more determined to make sure Kuroo cheers up once they’re alone. 

Finally, the long night ends, and everyone gathers up their things to start heading home. Kuroo sways on his feet, more drunk than the rest of them.

“You can get him home, right?” Sawamura asks. 

Bokuto nods. “Of course. You can leave Kuroo to me.”

“I’ve been _trying_ ,” Oikawa says, voice choking off when Sawamura elbows him in the side. 

As their small group disperses, Bokuto turns to Kuroo with a soft smile. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

Kuroo frowns at him. “Mm,” he says, noncommittally. But when he takes a step forward he staggers, dipping forward as Bokuto rushes up to catch him.

“How much did you drink?” Bokuto asks him.

“Three,” Kuroo slurs. 

“Okay,” Bokuto says, shaking his head. “Come on, just— here.” He manages to get Kuroo’s arm over his shoulders, and then holds Kuroo upright around his waist. 

It’s a strange position, but as Bokuto starts walking he thinks it’ll work, more or less. He supporting the bulk of Kuroo’s weight, and Kuroo’s body presses a long line of heat into Bokuto’s side. Bokuto’s hyperaware of how close they are, how vulnerable Kuroo is. 

It’s not a long walk home, but it is a slow one. Kuroo starts mumbling to himself, slurred words that Bokuto can’t quite make out.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“I said,” Kuroo says, too loud, “You’re not allowed to date anyone.”

“Huh?” Bokuto blinks. “I’m not dating anyone.”

“That’s right.” Kuroo nods to himself. “‘Cause you’re not allowed.” 

Bokuto chalks it up to drunken babbling, and decides to indulge Kuroo. He is sort of cute, like this. “Why aren’t I allowed, huh?”

Kuroo laughs and ends up spitting against Bokuto’s shoulder, head lolling. “Because,” he says loftily. “No one’s allowed to date you but me.”

“I— Kuroo?” Bokuto’s heart stops in his chest for a moment. 

Kuroo smiles up at him, eyes glassy and smile wide and innocent. “ _I_ like you, and I was here first. If anyone’s going to date you, it should be me.”

“I totally agree with you,” Bokuto says, before he can think better of it. “But just— what? You like me?”

Kuroo snorts. “Of course,” he says, rolling his eyes and stumbling. “I’ve always liked you.”

Bokuto imagines he’s being set on fire, but in a good way. That doesn’t really make sense, but neither does his life at this moment. Because if Kuroo liked him, surely he would have told him before now? 

—Or maybe he wouldn’t have, Bokuto thinks again. Because Bokuto hasn’t told Kuroo how he feels, because he’s scared of ruining things between them. And Kuroo, who always thinks three steps ahead, surely came to that conclusion much earlier. 

“I like you, too,” Bokuto says softly, when they reach their apartment building. He doesn’t know how he’s going to maneuver Kuroo up the stairs, so instead he sweeps him up into his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kuroo squirms against him before wrapping his arms around Bokuto’s neck, trying to find steadiness in his weightlessness. “You’re so awesome,” Kuroo murmurs, voice low. “And you’re gonna get popular and not need me, anymore.”

Bokuto starts walking the two of them up the stairs, head spinning. “What’re you talking about? Of course I’m always going to need you. I’m a mess without you, Kuroo.”

Kuroo shakes his head, and Bokuto can feel his messy hair tickling the skin of his neck. “Nope. You’ve got like thirteen fangirls. And fanboys. I hate them. They don’t know anything about you ‘cept how hard you can spike.” 

Something finally clicks in Bokuto’s mind. “Were you jealous?” he asks, incredulous. And this time, he thinks he actually knows what Kuroo was jealous _of_.

Kuroo laughs, loud and unattractive. “Of course,” he says, swinging one arm away from Bokuto’s neck. Bokuto has to spend a moment adjusting his grip and making sure they both don’t fall backwards. 

Somehow, they get to their apartment door, and Bokuto unlocks the door after setting Kuroo on his feet. As he ushers Kuroo into the kitchen, Kuroo frowns at him.

“Why’d you put me down?” he asks, voice almost a whine.

“…do you like it when I pick you up?” Bokuto asks. 

Kuroo’s face is bright red, but he nods.

Bokuto doesn’t know whether to feel happy or confused or scared. So he settles for hoisting Kuroo back up into his arms and carrying him into their bedroom. Their two beds are set against opposite walls, and Bokuto sets Kuroo down on his bed so he can help him out of his jacket and jeans.

“You really need to sleep this off,” Bokuto tells him, tugging off Kuroo’s socks.

“Bo,” Kuroo says quietly, looking up at him through lashes that have no business being so dark and thick.

“Yeah?” Bokuto asks.

“I’m not _that_ drunk.” Kuroo lunges forward, one arm around the back of Bokuto’s neck, and pulls him close so that he can smash his lips against Bokuto’s. He tastes of beer and harder liquor, stale and almost sour. 

But Kuroo’s kissing him, and for a moment Bokuto can’t think about anything but that. His lips move against Kuroo’s, wanting this so badly that it takes his rational brain a moment to catch up. 

“No,” he says firmly, pushing Kuroo away. “Sleep, now. You can kiss me in the morning. When you’re sober.”

Kuroo frowns, but falls back against his pillows with a sigh. “Promise?” he asks, and he might be trying to be sly, but he just sounds like he’s pleading.

Bokuto’s heart hiccups against his chest, and he nods vigorously. “Yeah,” he breathes, reaching out to stroke his thumb along Kuroo’s flushed cheekbone. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated, and you can come talk to me on [tumblr](http://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/newamsterdame).


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